the marvelous misadventures of pavel chekov
by the devil's waitress
Summary: daily happenings in the life of the reputable chekov; being sewenteen (aboard the uss enterprise) is not as glamorous as it may seem.
1. laughter is contagious

(chapter one)  
(laughter is contagious)

Chekov wants to be treated like an adult. He really does. He can't help it if some of his more child-like tendencies seem to come out when he gets excited or when he gets sad. (He hops when he is excited, or taps his foot, his eyes gleam, sometimes, too—when he is sad, he just cries, and he cannot help it that he chokes, and moans, and—well, he is just an ugly crier, okay?)

Sometimes, at the console, Sulu will look at him with one eyebrow raised, and he will say, mostly serious, "Have you disengaged the external dampener?" or something particularly similar to what Spock said to Mr. Sulu on that day and Pavel will just explode with laughter. Squeaky, breathy, laughter that everyone will perk their heads up at upon hearing it; some will even laugh, too, or some will just look at Kirk in his chair, while he stares at Chekov.

When Chekov is laughing too hard, he will turn around to check if he is making a scene, and most of the time (99.99 percent of the time, actually), he will see Kirk or a lot of the bridge crew just looking at him.

When this happens, Chekov will either (a) play it off, or (b) apologize profusely and blush like a beet in a bowl of borscht, and remain embarrassed for the rest of his shift and curse Sulu for being so damn funny.

On this particular day, he went with option (c), which, extraordinarily, has never been put in effect before today.

"Chekov," Sulu said, turning in his seat, and looking at Chekov with that cocked-eyebrow look and Chekov was already giggling.

"Swiggity swag, what's in the—" And before Sulu could even finish his sentence, Chekov absolutely lost it, turning around in his seat and doubling over to laugh even harder.

Pavel squeaked, and a loud metallic thud sounded, an indicator that he had fallen off of his seat. Yet, surprisingly, Pavel had not ceased his hysterical laughter.

Kirk had no idea what to do other than watch amusedly and say, "Well, shit, Sulu. You broke him."

Sulu's eyes darted to Chekov (still laughing, of course), then to Kirk, panicked, "Sorry, sir, I just. . ." he trailed off, simply reevaluating his entire life and wondering whether he really was funny or not and whether he should use this talent for good or evil.

After a few moments of Kirk and Sulu and eventually Spock going back and forth ("Captain—"  
"Sulu, please just never tell him a joke while he's on his shift ever again—"  
"I wasn't aware that 'joke-telling' was permitted while on duty." "Spock!"), Chekov finally stopped laughing, and went limp on the floor next to his chair.

"Fuckin'—call McCoy!" Kirk threw his hands up, "I will not have anyone on my ship die of laughter!" he added, trying very desperately to keep his own chuckle in.

* * *

Pavel came around some few minutes later in the Med-Bay, blinking and looking around. He recognized where he was immediately, and rubbed his eyes, sitting up. Reaching an arm up to run a hand through his curls, he found that he had an IV in the crook of his arm.

"Slow down, tiger,"

Chekov looked up to see McCoy typing something in his PADD, and eased himself back down, sighing.

"You passed out on the bridge. Can't say I've ever seen anyone get put in sick bay for laughing their ass off to the point where they cut off their own oxygen supply."

"Doctor, I—"

"So Spock and I carried you up here, and I come to find out that you are dehydrated. Hence the IV," McCoy explains. He turns the PADD around to shoe Chekov what he's looking at, which so happens to be—

"Oh."

—Chekov's replicator record. Everything that Pavel has ever requested from the replicator, displayed on a spreadsheet for the good doctor to analyze. Pavel assumed that Dr. McCoy could only access it because he was CMO. But Pavel wondered why he even wanted to access it anyway, what was the point?

"Chekov," the southerner starts, highlighting a specific section on his record, "can you tell me why you are drinking nothing but chocolate milk and apple juice?"  
the Russian looked guilty for a long minute, his gaze remaining downward for a while.

"Chekov, look at me, now. I don't want to treat you like a child."

Finally, Pavel looked up. "Is delicious. . .?" He sighed.

McCoy shook his head, slightly disappointed. "Listen, Pavel,"

Oh, goodness. Pavel already knew this wasn't going to end well.

"You need to stay hydrated and drink water. Alright, kiddo? Next time I see red in your replicator record," McCoy tapped the PADD for emphasis, "I'll do something about it."

"Yes, sir."

"Good boy. Now finish off this bag and you can go. Kirk gave you the rest of the day off, the bastard— have some fun. Have some water, too, so you don't puke up your stomach." McCoy said, tapping the IV bladder and walking away to some other poor dehydrated crew member.

Chekov sighed again, covering his face with his free arm. Again, McCoy treating him like a child—a part of him was angered by this but he also knew in the back of his head that he deserved this treatment.

He was still a lost child, seventeen years old—immature, irresponsible, and coincidentally, with a lot under his belt.

Today, Pavel Chekov vowed to be even more mature than he already was.

Starting tomorrow.


	2. love is in the air

(chapter 2)  
(love is in the air)

Pavel is still unclear on why exactly he wanted to join Starfleet—why exactly he wanted to extinguish his childhood, why exactly he wanted to stress himself out aboard this stupid starship with all this responsibility.

He's sure it was because he wanted to be apart of the big change, really help make a difference in this world. Isn't that everyone's reason, though? Did he, as a young child, strive to exhibit his scientific and academic prowess? Probably.

He's sitting with Mr. Sulu, Spock, and Uhura in the mess hall, chowing down on a single bag of baby carrots and small styrofoam cup of water. (He always binges after his shift, anyway. Pavel is younger, so this is somewhat acceptable.) (Not really.)

Everyone is enjoying the few moments of piece and the taste of thawed out food until Pavel asks the question.

"Why did you want to join Starfleet?"

All three of them perk their heads up, wondering who Pavel was talking to. He realizes and corrects himself.

"Oh! Sorry, sorry—you all."

Uhura sips some water and drums her painted fingernails on the table. "I wanted to prove myself," she says, and Pavel grins, because he knows that she is far past proving herself. (Pavel knows because she already has proven herself and has done so much more than that.)

"I also wanted to make my parents proud. Make myself into something." Uhura adds, and nothing more. Pavel nods, understanding, and looks at Hikaru, who shrugs.

"I've always wanted to be a pilot, since I was small. The only way to do that was through Starfleet."

Pavel nods at Hikaru, and silently admires the fact that Hikaru really followed his dreams.

Lastly, Pavel looks at Spock, and Spock is obviously deep in thought. Maybe not, though, that's just how he looks all the time.

"And you, sir?"

Spock glances at Uhura for a long moment, and back at Chekov.

"I enlisted in Starfleet because I simply wanted to break the barriers of my home planet. I rejected the offer to go to a  
. . . particularly prestigious school of math and science. Being half-human, the council was shocked that I had declined because of my 'disadvantage'—"

"Excuse me to ask," Chekov interrupts, genuinely curious, "what disadvantage is this?"

"My inevitable lineage, half-human, is a disadvantage on Vulcan."

Chekov's brows furrow, and he narrows his eyes, holding up a finger, "But, sir? Is strange to hear this. You are more capable than anyone else. That is not a disadvantage—"

Spock shakes his head, his eyes cold, "Ensign. I do not like to feel emotions, this is a widely known fact among the bridge."

"Yes, but sir, what do you feel when she kiss you on lips?"

Pavel is not going to pretend he has not noticed the little things between the first officer and the linguist. He has seen the tiny kisses in the hallways, the way Uhura leans on him when they are both in the lift, even the way Spock simply looks at her sometimes. You can say that Pavel doesn't get enough credit, but you can't say he doesn't pay attention at times.

Spock's mouth quirks into a small grin, his head bowed slightly, his cheekbones becoming slightly green.

"I feel happiness," Spock says, lifting his head and looking at Uhura, "and undeniable love." Chekov can't help but to bounce in his seat a little bit.

Sulu looks at Pavel, his eyes bright, his mouth slightly open. The pilot is looking at the Russian as if he has just figured out the secret of life, impressed. How can a mere seventeen year old Russian Ensign make a stone cold Vulcan feel—well, feelings—in front of people?

Chekov's silly smile stays on his face as he chomps down on his last baby carrot, and he lifts himself up to leave.

"Later, how you say, gators?" Pavel says happily and walks away, throwing away his trash on the way out. (He actually missed at first, and became embarrassed as he threw it in the trash for good.)

* * *

"Pavel," A feminine voice says behind Chekov as he walks through the corridors. The footsteps behind him are soft, light. His footsteps aren't exactly heavy, but they create a louder, more metallic presence. The young man turns around to see Nyota Uhura, and smiles one of his innocent, toothy smiles, which Uhura returns just as enthusiastically.

"_Da_?"

"I wanted to say thank you, for earlier, in the mess."

"Nyota, is nothing, I promise."

Uhura smiles happily and runs her hand along his upper arm, softly, "Pavel, you absolutely made my day back there. Please, if you need anything, I'm here for you."

The atmosphere around them shifts to an overall sense of happiness, and Chekov can't help but to smile to himself the rest of the way back to his quarters.


	3. there is no winter in space, chekov

(chapter 3)  
("there is no winter in space, chekov")

Chekov's papa always had a bit of a beard. Whenever they would hug it would always tickle Pavel's little face, and Papa would say, "Oh!" and Pavel would laugh.

The beard genes run in the family.

Most days Pavel has to wake up and shave and shower and eat in a hurry to his shift because he always, always hits the snooze button. Lately, however, he hasn't bothered with shaving and—lo and behold—he has acquired scruff.

Chekov comes to the bridge one day and sits down, says, "Hello, Mr. Sulu," very tiredly. Sulu says good morning, and does a double take.

"Pavel, what is on your face?"

The young man strokes his cheeks and closes his eyes; 'Damn, I forgot!' he thinks, scared if the other hates it.

"It's look's good, I didn't think you could grow a beard or something."

Captain Kirk overhears the conversation and raises his eyebrows, leaning forward in his chair, as if he can see the scruff from there.

"Chekov, turn around," the captain orders, and Chekov hangs his head, his curls flopping down as he swivels around in his chair.

"Head up," Jim says, his mouth turning into a small smile as he watches Pavel pull his head up.

"Sorry, sir, is an accident, I forgot shave this morning—"

"Don't apologize, Chekov," the captain strokes his own beard, "just join the club."

Pavel smiles and turns back around to the console with a glance at Sulu.

An odd way to start the day, but okay. . .?

~

When Pavel walks through the tinny halls of the Enterprise, he just walks. Now, with the scruff, people actually cast looks and glances at him. Chekov thought it was completely strange. Even Spock (who had warmed up to him since their last conversation) said something about it. ("I quite like the additional facial hair, Ensign.")

Pavel never really thought he was handsome—a looker, so to speak. He always thought he was just an average little Russian boy, until today.

Collapsing into his daily seat at the mess with Sulu, Uhura and Spock, he sighs, and takes a long sip of his stale water.

"Is weird, today," Chekov says.

"Why—oh my, God, Chekov! Your face!" Uhura squeals, getting a good hard look at his matured face.

"I know, I forgot to do shave."

"It looks great. Good job forgetting."

"I lost track completely, I do not know how I did not just remember these days past," Chekov tries explaining.

"Do you feel older?" Sulu asks, and Chekov looks up from replicated meatloaf, looking as if a nerve has been struck.

Pavel blinks, and thinks, about how he has matured since he passed out on the bridge. He supposes he has, just a bit since then. Attended his shifts, drank water, replicated healthier food. . .  
but has he really understood the essence of his responsibilities?

"Da!" Chekov answers, and it sounds a bit more like a question. Sulu just laughs and shakes his head and the rest of them carry on their little conversations.

Pavel just thinks.

Like he always does.

* * *

short chapter before i head off to vacation tomorrow! no chapters for a few weeks kiddies, sorry! -yours affectionately.


	4. booze is his game

(booze is his game)  
(alternate title: jumpin' jack flash)

It was only going to be a five minute break. Just a little break from the bridge. Uhura invited Pavel, saying that other people were going to be there and that it was going to be a bunch of fun! Yes—Pavel was peer pressured.

Fast-forward to one hour and a half later, Chekov is going head to head against McCoy, doing shot after shot (shots of vodka, by the way). McCoy looks like he's about to pass out, but Chekov is going strong, his cheeks rosy and the tips of his ears red. After the fifteenth shot, McCoy waves a hand, "I'm fin—done, I'm finished," he gurgles, close to giggling. His face is red and Chekov's hands shoot up.

"Pobeda!" Pavel shouts—victory in Russian. Uhura does the same and just hands Chekov the rest of the bottle.

In a flurry, Chekov takes McCoy's face in his hands and brings it towards him, smashing his lips against the other's. The people around him cheer, applauding this action and Chekov pulls away, getting up and rolling up his sleeves.

He takes the bottle with him and goes around the room, talking and laughing and enjoying himself and this longer than five-minute break.

Half of the bridge crew on the Enterprise learns that Pavel Chekov is an entirely different person under the influence. Normally, Chekov is shy, awkward, a wallflower of sorts, but still, kind and understanding. Under the influence he is absent minded, assertive, outgoing and simply a complete one eighty.

While going the room, Pavel sips and sips from the bottle and accidentally bumps into someone who is more than a little wound up.

"Hey, shrimp, watch where you're going!" the big man yells at Chekov, and Chekov rolls his eyes and grins madly.

"Ili chto?" (или что? "Or what?")  
Chekov says, shrugging.

The bigger man comes closer, grabbing Chekov by his collar, pulling him awfully close.

"What did you say to me, fucker?"

People instantaneously circle around them and egg the other man on. Greg is his name. From the mist of surprise, Chekov barely hears McCoy, Uhura and Scotty cheering for him. Chekov's feet are off the floor, and Greg throws him into some chairs.

"Oof," the Russian breathes and struggles to get up. Greg helps him out by pulling him up and slugging him in the stomach a few times.

Chekov is still holding his bottle, but not for long when he swings it over Greg's head, and he winces and falls over. The boy advances and kicks him in the stomach, in the groin, in the face. He rolls up his sleeves and turns around, receiving praise and strange faces when the man breaks a chair over Chekov's back a moment later, and he stumbles just a bit before coming face to face with Greg.

Pavel gives the other an uppercut, a slap in the face, and Greg returns it with a slug to the eye and he pulls his curls, making Chekov's head go back.

Before Chekov is punched in the throat, he slams his hands over the other's ears which makes his release his hair and Chekov makes his power play there.

A roundhouse to the stomach makes the other stumble back and fall over, Pavel snatches a full glass of beer and chucks it at Greg. It lands on his head and the beer stings his eyes and he is done but Pavel has one more thing to do.

He marches over and practically punts the other in the head, kneels down and gives him a few more slugs to be fair.

He hadn't realized but the crowd around him had went silent, even Uhura and McCoy and Scotty.

Pavel turns around, feeling awful, and his stomach absolutely drops when he sees the Captain, condescending and knowing, in the doorway.

"Oh, god, Keptin—" Chekov murmurs before running over to an open trashcan and throwing up, and falling to the floor.

* * *

Pavel checks his PADD when he wakes up in his quarters.

A message from the Captain shows up—'Chekov. You're working double shifts tonight. Head to the Med Bay before work.'

Reaching up to rub his dusty eye, Pavel instantly regrets it upon feeling the pain of his swollen, throbbing, eye.

"Ugh," Pavel groans.

* * *

well this is definitely not the last time i will abuse chekov ehehehe


	5. like it's 1972

(chapter 5)

(like it's 1972)

"A secret admirer? What is that?"

"It's someone who's too chicken to say they like you," Montgomery Scott laughs to himself next to Pavel.

Chekov is eating lunch with the engineer today because Sulu, Uhura and Spock seem to be off doing something, much to Pavel's displeasure. . .as if it's not hard enough to find a seat in the mess hall as it is.

In Pavel's hands is an envelope labeled—'Yours affectionately'—inside said envelope is a letter containing a message from Yours Affectionately, a.k.a.—

"A secret admirer. I have never had one. . . or admirer."

"Ain't that a bloody shame. . ." Scotty mumbles, downing bland lasagna, "Did you read it?"

"I. . .I skim it."

"What?! You can't do that! You have to read it! Tell me what it says!" The Scot screeches, and Pavel wants to laugh.

"Fine, fine, da! Okay!" Pavel replies with a liter of sass, opening the letter.

"Dear Pavel," the Russian begins quietly, reading ahead, "You are an amazing—incredible—astounding human being. I find myself completely moved by you. If you would please—meet me for dinner next to the medical bay tonight at 1800 hours," he reads, his face flushed, his eyes bulging. "Yours. . .Affectionately."

Pavel notices one thing—the letter is actually paper, maybe that one hundred percent elephant poop recycled crap, maybe not. But Pavel—as you all know—is not stupid. He can quickly deduce that whoever wrote this is old-fashioned. They probably got the paper from an antique store or something on the last shore leave.

Staring at the paper, the hazel eyes scan the handwriting, desperate to figure out the sender. The handwriting is poised, not some shitty chickenscratch—whoever wrote this took their sweet time.

"Chekov, what are you doin'? You've been staring at that paper for five minutes." Another voice jumps behind him and Pavel accidentally crushes the note in his hands upon hearing it, scared for only a second.

Chekov looks around to see Scotty still next to him, horseplaying with Keenser and turns to face whoever is behind him.

"Oh! Dr. McCoy! Is pleasure to see you!"

"Yeah, yeah—what's in your hand?"

"What? Nothing, is nothing."

Scotty butts in, wiggling his stupid eyebrows. "It's a note from Chekov's future lover."

Pavel blushes furiously and moves to stand, balling up the letter and his trash from lunch and bumps into McCoy on his way to leave.

"Sorry, sorry," he says as he walks past McCoy, and throws away his trash.

Scotty and McCoy look at each other knowingly, and McCoy shakes his head.

"Kid needs a girlfriend anyway," the doctor grumbles, walking away.

* * *

Chekov finishes his shift early, bouncing out of his seat when he is relieved. He goes to his quarters and changes his shirt. Slipping out of his long sleeved shirts, he put on a black undershirt and a gold short sleeved jersey. Pavel's arms were pale, yet dotted with freckles all over. He could never get a tan—just sunburns. But he did just get tiny freckles from the sun whenever he was back on Earth.

He walked through the bowels of the ship and the took the lift to get to the medical bay, but stopped when he heard some voices outside the entrance to the bay, hiding behind a wall.

"Bad idea. Very bad idea, Chekov needs to get his act together," the Captain mumbles.

"No, it's not, I really think—"

"Look at me—I said look at me, Sulu."

Pavel stops breathing for a moment, eyes widening. His heart is beating too fast, so fast and he just can't handle this news. His footsteps bang against the metal floor and he feels just slightly lightheaded.

* * *

Pavel walks into work that day, still a bit riled up from last night. Sulu and Chekov exchange their usual greetings, until Chekov changes it up and says to Sulu after a few hours on shift—"Sulu, will you please get a drink with me, uh, after this shift?"

Sulu cracks a small smile, and nods, "Sure, Pavel."

* * *

yeah, i'm not sure who (or what) you guys want for pavel. i have ideas of my own here and there, but regarding pavel's love intererst for this series, i need help from you guys. if you lovely readers have any ideas for who you want pavel's love interest to be, leave a review telling who. if any of you guys have ideas for any chapters, let me know! i would love to indulge you if i feel you have an interesting enough idea! thank you to all of you who have been following or favoriting my story and especially those who have left reviews so far! keep it coming, i love you all forever! :-)


	6. the right attitude

(chapter 6)

(the right attitude)

"Chekov. See me in my quarters when you are relieved." Kirk says, nonchalantly. Chekov turns, confused, wondering why the heck the Captain would need to see Chekov in his quarters. Then he rationalizes – hey, it might have something to do with the fact that you have been messing around, he thinks to himself. Turning back around in his chair, he and Sulu share a glance, shrugging.

So far, Pavel Chekov's mission to become a slightly more mature person than before is a total flop. Not surprising, he thinks. Chekov has never stuck with anything besides academics. There was one time when the Russian was younger, where he tried gymnastics. He quit after he saw that he was the only boy in his gymnastics class (he was embarrassed, okay?). Next was soccer, which he quit after he understood that he was clearly just not. . .made to play the sport (he was merged with a co-ed team that made fun of him an awful lot for his somewhat girlish looks). When his mother enrolled him in a science camp, however – it had been like Pavel had found a second home amongst the other kids, who he could have a clever conversation about Alkaline metals and the periodic table and Dmitri Mendeleev and even, hey, properties of cylinders, because why the heck not!

When Pavel is relieved from his shift, he makes his way through the shift to Kirk's quarters, feeling awful nervous. He could hear the conversation in his head.

_"Chekov, No one likes you. You're going to have to leave. Yeah." The Captain sneers unforgivingly. _

_"B-But – Captain! My kids – " _

_"You don't have kids!" _

And then Kirk would send him off in a pod to some indistinct planet. Chekov knocks lightly on the Captain's door, and Kirk opens it, giving Pavel a soft smile and gesturing that Pavel come in. The Russian just shoves his hands in his pockets and smiles back to be polite because honestly he doesn't know what else to do.

"Have a seat, Pavel," Jim says, readying a few glasses, and waving a hand towards a stainless steel dining table. The Ensign does so and drums his fingertips against the metallic, chrome-y finish. "I'm sure you know why you're here, right?" the other asks Pavel, setting a glass in front of him, "Do you want anything to drink?"

"Yes – yes! Captain, the note – the secret admirer! You are secret admirer!?"

Jim gives Pavel a skeptical look, pursing his lips and pouring himself a glass of water. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, Pavel. No. Calm down," he says, "water?"

A disappointed look flashes across Chekov's face and he nods, accepting the water.

"Thank you, Captain,"

Jim shakes his head, taking a sip and setting his glass down with a loud _clink, "_Call me Jim, Pavel," he chuckles lightly and leans back in his chair, "I wanted you here to talk about your behavior recently."

Oh, god. Pavel takes a sip of water to try and calm his nerves, but his heart is thumping too quickly all over again – "And listen, you know, it's understandable," What? Pavel thinks, confused.

"You're seventeen years old, aboard a federation starship. I assume that you've given up your childhood to make one of the best salaries a seventeen year old in space can make, huh?"

Chekov laughs lightly, drumming his fingertips again, "That is not why, Captain. I do not come aboard starship to make good salary."

Kirk smirks, wondering why exactly, "Your parents force you to join Starfleet?"

Chekov thinks back on his mother's face when he had informed her he was going to the Academy, to America, so early. She had said that he would leave her just like his father did, but Chekov hasn't seen his mother since. Where did he go for all those spring and Christmas breaks at the Academy? Nowhere. He just stayed by himself. How did he pay for the Academy? Chekov had a scholarship.

"Chekov,"

"Eh – what?"

"Did your parents force you to join Starfleet?"

Pavel sighs, "No," he answers truthfully, and continues. "My mother did not want me to leave Russia for Starfleet. My father. . .left. He is. . .no longer my father. I join Starfleet because," he searches his mind palace for all the available answers, but only chooses one. "I want adventure."

Jim's smirk turns into a full-blown smile, and he laughs, "Who doesn't?"

"Captain, what makes me special is that this is what I choose for childhood. I choose Starfleet over Russia, because nothing is left for me there. No friends, no parents, no. . .future," Chekov tells the Captain, a light in his eyes.

"Well, do you have it?"

"Have what?"

"The adventure you wanted."

"Da," Chekov smiles brightly, "and more. I have friends, I have enemies, I have. . .life. I had none of that in Russia. Starfleet changed my life for better, and da, I have trouble at times, but is adventure, yes?"

The Captain's eyes are lit up as he hears Chekov out, hears his reasoning. He's glad he took this time to get to know his favorite Ensign a little better.


	7. no place like starship (part 1)

(chapter 4)

(no place like starship)

An away mission. Why would Chekov go on an away mission, of all people? The dancing queen was not fit to go bash hostile aliens in and negotiate with alien terrorists in order to avoid sacrificing a virgin (cough Chekov cough) and do this and that repel off of eight hundred foot white cliffs.

But no. Kirk had specifically requested that the navigator go with them to, "Learn a thing or two about kicking ass," to which McCoy responded under his breath, "Oh, he already has," referring to Greg and his ass getting beat down by the little Russian boy.

Anyway, now Chekov was absently tinkering with his phaser, standing in between McCoy and Kirk as they discussed a few things with these other worldly diplomats.

Why am I here, Chekov wonders, am I any use to this objective at all? It didn't make sense. What was the point of Chekov accompanying them just so he could feel useless?

There is a pause in discussion a Kirk and McCoy guide Chekov towards the back of the room to consult with each other.

"Alright, we almost have established relations—" Kirk begins the talk.

"They don't want a virgin to sacrifice to join the Federation, thank the lord." McCoy says quietly, in all seriousness.

"Yay," Chekov mumbles, putting his phaser in his holster, "what do they want?"

Kirk looks up at Chekov, "They just want to have dinner with us. See our table manners, I guess."

Oh. Okay, not bad, "I can do that." Pavel smiles, a pinch nervous. How hard could it be? As the three step forward, Chekov sighs, still feeling very useless.

Pavel pays attention to the next conversation between the ambassador and the captain.

"Of course, as guests to this feast, you do have entertainment to offer, yes?" the blue-skinned ambassador asks, tapping his fingers on the armrest of the chair he was sitting in.

"Entertainment?" Kirk asks, sounding confused (but he has a good idea of what this man means), and Chekov looks up, alarmed at the confusion in Kirk's voice.

"Preferably the entertainment of a young man that shall be willing," the ambassador clarifies, turning to his head to stare at Pavel.

"One moment, please, sir," Kirk says, guiding Chekov and Bones to the back of the room to speak in hushed tones again.

"Chekov, you have to do it," Kirk orders, "do you…can you do anything?"

"Jesus, Jim, this kid can't strip in front of—"

"Christ, Bones, no one was thinking that!"

"That damned hobgoblin was," McCoy bites back.

"I can…eh…dance. Ballet." Chekov practically whispers, and Kirk's face lights up at the confession.

"That'll do, pig, that'll do." He says, and McCoy suppresses a chuckle and Chekov looks insulted because he doesn't understand the reference.

* * *

part two later friends, i honestly thought this was a longer chapter than i thought wow terribly sorry guys


	8. no place like starship (part 2)

(part 2)

Chekov's ballet was really more of a combination between bellydancing and terrible dancing, and while Chekov is "performing" McCoy and Kirk try very desperately hard not to laugh, and even Chekov is suppressing his laughter as well.

What the Russian is wearing is scandalous, as he was dressed by council assistants in robes and a head dress, which show off his arms, chest and legs. Of course, he had to beg to keep his underwear on.

Pavel is really doing everything. Grinding, twisting, squatting, twerking, leaping, interacting with the guests of the feast (coughMcCoyandKirkcough).

He swaggers over to where the two are sitting, on the edge of hysterical laughter as Chekov awkwardly (on purpose) scratches under their chins.

McCoy lets out a small burst of laughter as Chekov sashays back.

After a terrible twenty minute show of Chekov dancing, McCoy and Kirk's faces are red, breathless, and Pavel looks to both, eyebrows raised and a small smile. The other two nod in approval and Kirk gives Chekov a shaky thumbs up.

Pavel leaves the room to change into his gold jersey and fleet uniform to eat.

* * *

"Holy shit, Spock, you should've seen it!" Kirk bellows, slapping the armrest of the captain's chair.

McCoy hides his face, shoulders shaking as he stands next to Kirk. Sulu is staring at Chekov—actually, the whole bridge is staring at Chekov. Spock glances at Pavel, and back to Kirk.

"Congratulations, Ensign, for aiding the Federation in a crucial mission." Spock nods, hiding a smile.

"He twerked, for Christ's sake, he twerked—" McCoy's voice comes out, high pitched, and he leans on the chair, and Kirk's head is thrown back, eyes closed, still laughing.

"Chekov—twerk—Captain's orders!"

Pavel nods, giggling as he gets out of his chair, stretching a bit before he begins. "Okay, Captain," he says, beaming. It's Chekov's time to shine.

And so the young boy twerks, executing a perfect dance as he leans forward, hands on his knees.

"God fucking dammit," McCoy howls, and the bridge is howling with cat calls and laughter, and even Scotty comes in to see what all the ruckus is about and you can hear the whole bridge crew all the way down in Engineering—

and Uhura gets up from her seat and tucks a dollar in Chekov's pants when he finally stops, panting.

Sulu claps for a bit for his friend, and so does the bridge crew, genuinely proud of the baby of the Enterprise for being provacative, attractive, sexy, etc.

"Congrats, Chekov, you're hot," Kirk says, calming down, "how do you feel?"

"Da, I feel great!"

* * *

hello readers! and friends! if any of you literately roleplay kirk or sulu, let me know so we can get our chulu/mckirk on! my skype is "thiskillsthedipcone" (no quotation marks of course) if you want to contact me about it, go ahead and skype me! if you just want to talk about stuff, go ahead and skype me anyway! (no but seriously i need someone to roleplay with me on skype)


	9. black bile rises (part 1)

( chapter 9 / part 1 )

( black bile rises )

There are silent steps in the deeper part of the ship, accompanied by hisses and whistles. The boy in his gold jersey sweat horribly because other than panicking, he's doing something about the situation that has taken the Enterprise by the throat, with no mercy whatsoever.

He remains silent as ever, one hand on a phaser he had stolen from a body—set on kill. For the first time in his seventeen year life, he was fearing for his future, whether he would be alive by the time he was supposed to head to his next shift, whether he would be able to hear Spock and Kirk bicker over something irrelevant, whether he would be able to see Sulu again, whether he would ever hear the cheerfulness in Scotty and Uhura's voices again – whether he would ever hear his friends voices again.

At the moment, he's expecting to find Scotty—who Chekov has no idea to be bitten or not. He could have locked himself in his quarters, like Spock and McCoy have. As far as he knew, Sulu was safe, in Pavel's quarters, Spock was safe (unfortunately Uhura had been bitten and almost bit Spock, but he had gotten to her just in time to stop her). The Captain is loose, and so is Scotty. Everyone else is off, trying to fend for them themselves.

He hears a moan behind him, and holds his breath, ducking behind a chrome barrel as the walker barely notices him.

'_Shit, shit, shitshitshitshit_,' Pavel's mind is reeling. How many more are there? Will he survive the Engineering Bay? Can he even rescue Scotty? He's only seventeen!

He very, very quietly scoots in the direction of Scotty's office and before he knows it, he is looking in the window, seeing two bodies. A dead one, hunched over the desk (not the red-head, Chekov knew), and another one, leaning against the wall at an odd angle. The one leaning against the wall seems to awake and glances out the window and that's enough for Chekov to know that that is indeed, Scotty.

* * *

Somehow Chekov and Scotty made it out, Scotty grabbing a few more things, like a crowbar, a larger phaser, and a normal phaser for himself. They ended up taking cover somewhere near the atrium of the ship, and from there they talked.

"Chekov, you have no idea how glad I am to see ya, boy,"

"Da, I feel same—have you seen the Captain?"

Scotty shook his head, fiddling with the crowbar, "Eh, no. Last I saw him was the bridge. Before this mess." Silence. "Pavel?"

"Yes?"

"Who's gone?"

There's a certain harshness that is very cruel in this question, and Pavel wants to curl up and wish for a normal childhood bit he can't.

"Miss Uhura, and—and maybe the doctor and the Captain, I am not sure—"

He is interrupted by the sight of Scotty's shoulders shaking, his body wracked with chokes and sobs. "Mr. Scott, please do not cry, we will be okay," Chekov whispers, bringing Scotty towards him for a hug. Pavel is surprised that he isn't curled up in the fetal position, sobbing hysterically. "I promise."

* * *

Scotty and Chekov hit trouble when they get around the Medical Bay.

"Nine o' clock!" Scotty yells as he crunches a young red shirt's head with a crowbar and pushes them aside. Pavel turns to the left just as a blonde blue shirt prepares to bite into his shoulder and he aims for their forehead as he pulls the trigger on his phaser.

They do this for what feels like hours. A blast there, a swing there, a close here. Chekov wants to die but he knows he can't let his crew down.

As Scotty claims the coast is clear and the two are covered in black splotches from the undead. Pavel has a large smudge right above his eyebrow and Scotty has a big spot right on his neck. The door to McCoy's office was always unlocked when the bay was open. Of course now, at the most inconvenient time possible, it was locked. Pavel raps gently on the door, while the Scot keeps a look out. "Doctor! Doctor McCoy! Please, open door! It is Chekov and Mr. Scott!"

For a very long, very painful moment for the two foreigners, there is silence. A voice from the inside mumbles softly, and the door slides open, allowing them to come into McCoy's (rather large) office.

"Doctor, thank you so – " Chekov stops, his jaw dropping as his phaser nearly slips out of his hand, and looks on to the sight ahead of him (a thoroughly trashed office, black splotches across tin, leading to the desk). Pretty soon Scotty does the same, a hand grabbing at Pavel's shoulder in what is supposed to be a comforting gesture.

A grunt comes from a corner of the room, hidden from Pavel's view, and then another, and the Russian creeps around to the desk. He glances at Scotty, afraid, and is very much relieved and very much the opposite when he sees an even more unnerving sight. A once fresh golden jersey, dirtied with the dried, brown blood of presumably the Enterprise's CMO. The Enterprise's CMO splayed awkwardly under his desk, eyes glazed over. A broken bottle of what Pavel assumes to be bourbon in the good doctor's hand. Dried blood that once pooled under both the beloved Captain and the CMO . However, something about the Captain was different, Chekov noticed with dread. His skin was gray. Although one of his eyes were closed, the other was open (the iris was a pure white), and because Chekov could actually see the eyes of the zombie that was once the Captain. . .

"Mr. Scott, we need to leave," Chekov says before tripping, something clinging on his pant leg and his boot and pulling him in. "Fuck! Mr. Scott!" He screams, trying desperately not to let the Captain's bile he's choking out above him get in his mouth. The zombie has Chekov pinned, so, very, very close to getting his mark just like his CMO.

"_Shoot already!_" Chekov's screams pierce the other's momentary trance and Scotty stomps over, kicks Kirk away, and shoots him in the gut before blasting him in the head.

Before Chekov can get up, their old CMO is up and at em', black drool dripping from his pretty mouth. McCoy (or, formerly McCoy) attacks Scotty, and Chekov snatches the huge phaser from Scotty. The older man whirls around to grip McCoy by his chin and the top of his head with as much strength as he can, the zombie wailing and flailing. Chekov shoots and the zombie is flung back a few feet – enough of a difference for Chekov to make his mark and shoot him in the head.

"Fuck," Scotty exhales, gripping at his neck, "_fuck, fuck, fuck_." Pavel can hear Scotty as his boots crunch through the office, and he bends down to look at his old Captain. He gingerly pulls down the other's eyelids with his fingertips, and does the same for McCoy.

He had known of their relationship, and felt sick to his stomach just thinking of what their last moments could have been like.

* * *

well! there you go, the first part of a little zombie au thing i created. pretty cool, huh? let me know what you think and thanks for reading.


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